huh

 so

it turns out that "maybe i should drain out some blood from my arms, and see if that helps" 

is called "suicidal ideation."

i wish i had friends.  or loved ones.  or could love a one, if it came down to it.

i wake up just wanting hugs, and then curl up to have nightmares of being murdered by grabby zombies.

i hate this.  i just want what i see other people having.  someone to share a life with.  someone who doesn't turn into grabby zombies.

ugh

 holidays mean i have to pretend to be normal enough to talk with family and friends and i just don't feel up to it this year.

my brain did at least decide to provide me with a nice dream:

i'm hiking, with work people i think.  we've reached some weird part where there's a bridge in the path made out of a tree (somehow).  you have to climb up one trunk to the peak where there's a trunk that connects to the ground, and then climb down a third trunk back to the path.

i climbed up the first part, but when i got to the middle, someone pulled me to the side and told me i couldn't do it like that.  i'm taken to this mall like place next to the hiking trail, and bustled around through a bunch of rooms and people until i'm eventually in one large room, and i've been stripped naked.

that's when the Dominatrix appears, and gives some order to someone else, and i again get bustled through a bunch of rooms, and when i'm returned to her, i have a chastity belt strapped on.  she's super angry about this, because that wasn't her order.  it's removed, and she slides a catheter in (with far less pain than it probably causes in real life), and then forces me down to push a double balloon enema plug into my butt.

that's somehow what i'm supposed to use on the hike, and it kind of makes sense in the dream?  something happens here (i think i woke up a bit), and when it's clear again, the sun is down, and it's closing time.  the Dominatrix returns, and tells me that if i've joined the Spaghetti Club, i can go have dinner with someone else (she looks kind, and i realize i am hungry).  i try to explain that i don't know what's going on, but i'm totally happy to sign up for whatever, because i have a week of vacation left, and would rather do fun stuff here than continue hiking.

the Boss arrives, and she brings all my clothes and things stuffed in a bag.  i dig out my credit card, and hand it over, and have to recite something word for word back to her, and then she swipes it and i put it back in the bag before it's taken away.  i don't know how much it costs, but it sounds like it'd be fun.

there's another lapse, and it's much later at night.  i'm sleeping on a kitchen table, which is really thick, and super shiny with all the varnish.  i wander around, and finally find the room the Dominatrix is in, and she rushes to the door.  "sorry, i'm with someone else right now, i'll find you later.  unless he doesn't mind if you come in?"  i wander around some more before finding "my room."

when i wake up (actually, when i go back to sleep after turning off my alarm), i realize i have to bake my ham for dinner today (a real life thing that i didn't get to until 5pm).  i finally find the "kitchen," and try to follow all the instructions on the wall for turning on the oven.  the Dominatrix finds me, and helps me sort out the oven (which involves puzzles and all sorts of weird stuff, like the controls for the oven being attached to a third oven), and i get my ham in to cook.

unfortunately, that's when i woke up for real.  still, it was a really nice dream in which i had nice human contact with someone who was just 100% loving and supportive.

weighted blankets are just bondage for boring people

i bought one last year, and it's cold enough now that i pulled it out again.  i'd forgotten how much it squishes me down, and spent a most of the afternoon napping underneath it.  it was during that long nap that i realized it does the same thing that really nice, low-stress bondage does:  you can't move as much as you want, so you have to be calm and relax.

it's totally not the same as the terrors i come up with.  there's no vacuum sealed rubber, no epoxy and concrete block holding me permanently immobile, no layers of plastic and tape locking my body still.  but there's still the same cozy "hug" that is in my mind when i dream them up.

anyway, just something that i thought up while snuggling all day long.

The Cell

a lot of this is fragments that were kind of the foundations for a story that never worked.  this morning i decided to just take the bits i had, and put them together without worrying about "reasons" and "characters" and stuff like that.  this is clearly influenced by some of Thndrshark's stories, along with my own inherent weirdness.

The Cell
sammy_808@live.com
http://sammytriesagain.blogspot.com/2020/07/the-cell.html

one of those days

where i kind of just want to curl up on my couch and cry for a few hours.

no real reason why.

just feel like maybe it's time for tears.

:(

if you're waiting for the next comp-pet chapter:

sorry

a lot sorry.

i'm trying to get it done, but it's fighting me, and my brain is fighting me, and i have my Real Life shit to deal with as well.

i am going to try super hard to get chapter 2 out this week.  if i don't, please don't hate me.

but i plotted out the goals, and i am way less than halfway, and i know i'm going to miss at least two months from work, so i need to hurry.

sorry.

a lot sorry.

opinions?

if i put in Japanese, should i just do a translation, should i do a romanji "sayonara" style thing, or is it ok if i put in the regular hiragana (b/c i never learned my kanji): "いいえ"?

this wasn't a problem until i got drunk tonight and worried about it.

i should just design all clothes

did you know about thumbholes?

i've owned like two hoodies.  ever.  until moving, and now i have like five.

but only a few have thumbholes.  they're like gloves, but where i just tuck in the fingers when they get cold.  and i can be sure my hoodie is wrapped around like a hug on me.

so, if i could design all the clothes:

thumbholes for all long sleeves.

pockets on fucking everything.

i probably should say "and it's all cotton," but to be fair, over the past few years, i've converted to spandex and polyester.  yes, i know i'm wrapped up in plastic like a tray of hamburger, but i like that squeeze, and i like the smoothness.

"what even is this, sammy?"

this is what you get when i drink once a week instead of constantly.

i get a lot of crazy dreams that disturb me.





i have a few story thoughts.  it's weird when your brain is clear to come up with what i did in the past.

can people comment?  if you get a "comment rejected" or "comments not allowed" message, send me an email, and i'll try to sort it out.  i have a vague idea someone did that before, but i can't find it.

ugh

so i moved.

and i know basically nobody here, so it's similar to before i moved, except there i just alienated everyone i knew.

but i thought, "oh, hey, let's try the online dating stuff again, see how that works out."

i filled in all the junk, answered a bunch of questions, and selected the "i'm not an asshole, i'm ok with most people, as long as they're not jerks."

and then looked at the first batch of matches.  #3 on the list, with a 97% match rating: my boss.

i did the totally grown up thing, and deleted my account.  why can't things just be easy?  i guess it's nice to know that i'm not the absolute only one left in the office who doesn't have any kind of family, but still.

ugh.  between this and the constant fact that i have to be afraid of fascists completely destroying the government, i kind of wish i were still crazy.

hey

so.

started antidepressants again.  this time they seem to be doing a way better job than previously.  it's nice not wanting to kill myself everyday.  it's like a whole new world that's probably what other people live all the time.

so that's nice.

i also applied and was accepted for a new job.  that means i'm going to be moving to the mainland.  which is kind of super stressful and all that, but i don't like my current job, and this is a big opportunity.

i don't think i'm going to be advertising the area code i'm moving to, so don't bother with that.  it's a big change by itself, and i'd prefer not to have to worry about random people stalking me because of my porn account.

that said, i might start writing again.  the antidepressants make masturbating a struggle, but they clear my brain of a lot of the unpleasantness.  i have one story outlined, and a second vaguely sorted, and a third idea that could be clearer, but is better than i've been in a year.

no promises.  the world still sucks, there are still fascists out there that hate me, and people could be kinder but aren't.  we'll see if i feel comfortable with this.

so, hey.  here's a 2017 update before the new year.  wasn't this a shitball of a year?

fucking hope next year is better.

super early on this, but

i may be moving.  to someplace else.  maybe.  with a different job.  possibly.

so that might make me even worse about posting.  or writing.  or all of this, really.  since.  "new job."

potentially.

just wanted to say something about it, because i'm kind of freaking out a bit at the idea.

and, because i'm wonderful, i outlined a new story i won't write for three years, because i'm awful at completing things.

allegedly.

recycling notes

not much, really

an update

still dealing with things in the way i pretend i think sane people do it.  i am taking out trash.  i am murdering bugs with cleaning fluids.  i am wondering if "termites" are something you can treat with regular poisons, since i can't seem to find poisons that do that.

i am wondering if i should just post summaries, and pretend i wrote a story i couldn't pull myself to write.

i have a lot of these outlined stories that i just can't motivate myself to make real.

sorry.

does anyone think that's good?  or sufficient?  i want to write the full story, but i never do.  for like a year, i never do.  if i never write something, what happens then?

so, hey, go look at the tumblr, go get the porn done, look at my sad wikipedia pages, and hopefully be sad in sympathy.

would anyone be happy if i just sketched how things would go, and then never wrote it?  would that ruin any actual stories that i can push out?

i don't know anymore, and my favorite authors seemed to have stopped, so maybe there's just a point where it doesn't click anymore.

i woke up from a dream this morning.

i was laughing while running a dull knife up and down my arm.  “it can’t do anything!  it's not even sharp!"  i looked down at the blade, and noticed it was weirdly pink.  i then looked at my arm, and saw that it was mauled beyond recognition.  "ha.  gross.  people are probably going to notice that."

then i woke up.

might have made a mistake

i have to do doctor tests this week, so i decided "let's stop drinking this week, and try to eat better and stuff.  you know, lie for the tests."  i don't know what the effectiveness is going to be, or even if it's worth bothering. but, that's the plan.

but it's kind of been something that organizes my going to sleep routine, even if thta's "ill-advised" or "a big giant warning sign" or something.  but it helps me get to sleep without all the demons in my brain clawing at me for hours.

"they have therapy now, sammy.  have you looked into it?"

yeah, yeah.  i know.  i think it'll just be the same surface level junk that i did last time.  they were a bit helpful, but since i'm posting this on the same blog i put up my stories that involve..."socially underexplored relationship paradigms" i'm kind of sure that should be something to bring up.  since hiding a whole giant part of my inner personality from someone trying to get to know me to see how they can help seems like it's counterproductive.

also: this post just got super hard to continue, because the zolpidem is obviously kicking in.  that's the sleeping pill i took the night i woke up to my freezer sitting wide open because drug-me wanted a popsicle.  i don't have popsicles today, so i'm hoping that keeps me safe.

other than freezer ruining, this drug kind of unclips bits of your brain in a way that's not normal.  it's like you're pretty sure everything is real, but things seem to work wrong.  sitting up.  walking.  putting words in the right order.  thoughts.

so in any case, if i post tomorrow that "my kitchen smells like dead garbage because i went looking for popsicles" again, then this didn't work as well as i was hoping.  my best case scenario: the slow slowing of my brain to sleep will work better this time.

so hey!  let's play with drugs that i legally have a prescription for, and see if I can get the kind of results they claim on the bottle!



and i opened up two stories this weekend, and procrastinated myself enough to not write anymore.  i did come up with brain dialogue, so hopefully i can smooth these junky bits so i can get it done.












ok, time to see how hard standing up is going to be this time..

this is going to be a dumb post.

i went to foodland today, because i needed body wash and water.  i didn't buy water, because i forgot that that was on the list entirely.  i checked a bunch of other things that i didn't need to buy, but not water.

this isn't about that.

last time i went to foodland, they had cinnamon raisin breadsticks at the checkout impulse buy section.  along with boxes of cereal for some reason.  i got some, and they were really good, and so they were gone in like a day.

so this time, i track down the cinnamon raisin breadsticks to their home with all the other breads, and specifically get some.  fine, impulse buy section, you got me.  but i assume i've outsmarted it.

today, what's sitting in the impulse buy section?  slabs of cornbread in those plastic cake slice thingies.  who impulse buys cornbread?


so now my tummy is rumbling, and i'm about to eat this slab of cornbread that i cut into more manageable sticks, and i'm kind of worried what the impulse buy section will have next time.

i should probably stop this

this constant "write a post" "make post a draft" "read post again later and decide it's cool to publish" "pull down post again".

sorry.

there's this constant noise in my head telling me to do things.  some of them are "take out the trash" and "do you have clean clothes for tomorrow?"

some of them are "write gross porn" and "watch gross porn."

still others are "are you sure you've got that red blood?  maybe it's worth checking it out.  you know, just to be safe" or "huh.  breathing is just this constant thing, you know?  like a chore you have to do all the damn time.  plastic seems like it could help us here.  let's check out what plastic's got going on, right?"

i guess it's called "intrusive thoughts"?  like, you know you can't just stab the waitress who just gave you a sharp knife for your food, but your brain still tells you that, like, you know, it's an option if you're up to it.

it certainly doesn't help that i get drunk.  a lot.  sorry.  but drinking dulls that noise.  the that part is all "whatevs" and the other is all, "do what you want" and the amethyst is "or just nap all day, it's cool."

so again, sorry.  i have work shit to do tomorrow, and i have people coming to my apartment this week, so i have to hide all my trash and alcoholism for that.

but i so want to get this part done.  the tender parts i wrote while drunk are kind of good.  i think i need to just stop trying to get a "writing mood" and just write.  just make the words come out.  i can fix them later if they're not good.  but getting the ideas down in some form seems like the most important bit.

honestly, what is up with my space bar?

fine. i'll admit it.

it's taken me years to accept it, but i can't deny it anymore.

takenoko no sato are superior to kinoko no yama.

they're simply better.

so. yay. psychological revelations that come up when you listen to 80s new wave.

you won't understand this.

because the backstory i'd have to provide is far longer than my currently drunk mind can provide.

here's the shortest version i can come up with.

this song played a lot when i did things i regret, and that shame has stuck with the opening piano in the back of my brain for years.

if you can sort out reasons why, just keep your damn mouth shut.  i know my reasons.

at the grocery store today

me: "what else do i need to buy?"
cart: "i have this stuff in me.  i don't seem to have any soap.  do you need soap?"
me: "tooth paste!"

surprise! the correct answer was deodorant. :-/